


West Coast Erectors

by Kittles123



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jaime's Awkward Boner June Fest, Modern Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: Jaime meets Brienne at a football game.  Escapades and boners ensue!





	West Coast Erectors

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a non-canon, modern AU story. For JAB June. Hope you enjoy! Totally unbeta'd so I apologize for errors. Also, I promise to work on Side Quest next, I'm sorry for the delay.

**West Coast Erectors**

 

Jaime Lannister climbed out of bed and tied on his trainers just before sunrise.  It was a Saturday morning, and most of Lannisport was still asleep. But morning was Jaime’s favorite time for a run, and he had an urban obstacle race coming up in a few weeks.  A mix of parkour and endurance running, the races had become his new pastime, though he’d told no one about it. His brother Tyrion would have been somewhat supportive, watching Jaime struggle as he pushed his body to the limits, simultaneously cheering and laughing his ass off.  Jaime’s sister would accuse him of having a midlife crisis--though she wasn’t one to talk. Cersei was currently in Sothorys on a two month long coast to coast backpacking trip. It was about as far away from the sleek suits and perfectly coiffed hair of her usual metropolitan lifestyle as you could get.

He trotted out onto the trail that ran past his modest condominium, warmed up on the half-mile jog to the coastal bike path, and then started some intervals.  He loved the feel of his legs churning, and once he reached the rocky shoreline, of his feet finding sure purchase on the stones. His father had wanted him to buy a condo in one of the beachfront properties, a better investment he’d said, but Jaime had only been working for the family construction business, _West Coast Erectors_ , for a few years.  He didn’t want to overextend himself or rely on his father to foot the bill.

Jaime gazed out across the aqua blue water.  Far out in the distance, he could make out a Coast Guard cutter crashing through the waves.  He missed his days in the Guard, missed the camaraderie and the sense of purpose. He looked down at his right arm.  Where his hand should have been was only a stump of flesh. He’d lost it during a rescue at sea. They’d tied up to a vessel in distress, and just as they were evacuating the last of the passengers, the boiler exploded, snapping the tie lines taut and severing his hand at the wrist.  He never even felt it, really. He’d just yanked his arm free, assuming his hand was still attached, until one of the passengers, and old woman, gasped at it and then tried to wrap what was left of his arm in her own hair kerchief.

Jaime smiled.  He couldn’t remember much from that day, but he could remember the old woman’s face.  The Guard had offered him a promotion to a desk job, but Jaime knew that that was the end of the line for him.  He would never be content behind a desk. His father had convinced him to work for the family business--it was his duty, he’d said--under the condition that Jaime could work as a foreman out a the construction sites.  He was proud to be able to say that employee satisfaction and work-life balance were at an all-time high since he’d started.

After completing his five mile loop he headed back to his condo.  The sun was up now, peeking over the mountains to the east of the city and burning off the layer of morning fog so that the temperature had risen by at least ten degrees since he’d left.  Sweat trickled down his forehead and his shirt stuck to his back. As he entered his condo, the rush of air conditioning was a welcome relief. He slipped off his running shoes and headed to the fridge to grab a sports drink.  His phone was charging on the counter, and he noticed the tiny blue indicator light was flashing, indicating a text message. It was from Tyrion.

 

_Fuuuuuuuck my life.  Please, call me ASAP.  I’m dead._

 

Jaime raised a skeptical eyebrow.  His brother was so dramatic. He probably needed his tire changed or something.  He took a long swig of his sports drink, popped a bagel into the toaster, and then called Tyrion.

“Hello?” Tyrion answered, his voice so horse Jaime could barely understand him.  “Brother, is that you?”

“Tyrion,” Jaime replied, “rough night?”  Tyrion _occasionally_ overindulged at the bar with either his friends or potential clients.  He was the top salesman at _West Coast Erectors_.

“Gods, Jaime.”  Tyrion paused and swallowed hard.  “I feel like I just faced a Dothraki horde on an open field.  With a dragon.” Jaime rolled his eyes. His brother had always been a history buff.  “I need your help.”

“Alright, what is it?”  Tyrion usually needed him to go get his convertible from wherever he’d left it the night before.  At least his little brother was a responsible drunk.

“I’m supposed to host a client at the Marauders game today,” Tyrion groaned.  The Marauders were the Westerland’s football team, and they were playing the Tarth Evenstars today.  The Marauders were heavy favorites.

“No,” Jaime said.  He _hated_ schmoozing clients with a passion.

“Please, I’m massively hung over and literally cannot get out of bed.  I think I need an IV. We’re putting in a bid on the new Sapphire Isles Inn project.  If I vomit all over the heir to the Tarth Hotels empire, Father will kill me.”

“But, but…” Jaime was so repulsed by the idea he didn’t know where to start.  “I don’t even like the sport.”

“You’re the only hetero male I know that hates football.”

“I like _real_ football.”

“Oh gods, shut the fuck up, my head hurts.  You are such a pretentious bastard about that.”

“But it’s _football._ You play with your _feet._ ”  He heard a rustling on the other end of the line followed by Tyrion retching.  He must have put the phone down to throw up. Jaime had heard a little about the bid, enough to know it was currently the most sought after contract on the west coast.  If Tyrion fucked up this deal, their father would kill them both--Tyrion for being a drunk and Jaime for not bailing him out.

“Alright,” Jaime sighed.  “I’ll do it. What time’s the game?”

“Kick-off’s at three, but you should really get there early.  And don’t wear any Marauders gear. The Tarths are serious about their Evenstars.”

That wouldn’t be a problem, Jaime didn’t own any.

 

Later that afternoon, after driving up the coastal highway to Crag City, Jaime made his way through security and into Westerlands Field.  He’d worn business casual, and he stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of red and gold jerseys. There were a few groups of blue jerseys clustered together, Tarth colors, but they were enormously outweighed by the home team's fans.  Jaime ran his hand through his hair and made a beeline for the gate that led to his seat.

He walked through the tunnel and the field opened up before him.  The stadium was packed and lively music played over the loudspeakers.  His seat was in the first row of the second terrace, right on the fifty yard line, and a enviable seat if Tyrion was to be believed.   _West Coast Erectors_ held season tickets specifically for the purpose of wooing clients.  As he descended the concrete steps, he caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a Evenstar jersey with “Clegane” written in block letters across the back.  It had been a big upset when the top prospect, Sandor Clegane, from the Westerlands had signed a deal with their east coast rival. This towheaded man was sitting in the seat next to Jaime's, and it could only be his client, surely another entitled rich boy.  He looked taller than Jaime, with a thick neck and he wore black capri athletic pants that accentuated an ass you could bounce quarters off of, and-- _oh gods, is that a WOMAN?_

It _was,_ and Jaime immediately pulled out his phone, stopping mid step, and shot off a scathing text to Tyrion.

 

_Fucking hells, you could have warned me that it was a woman, and a beast of one at that._

 

Jaime couldn’t wait for a response, though, as people were starting to pile up behind him, anxious to get to their seats.  So he squared his jaw and slid down the row to his seat.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, trying to get the woman’s attention.  And when she turned to him he almost gasped. Her nose was so crooked that it made her entire face look lopsided, and she had such a sneer on her big mouth that she looked like an ogre about to eat him for breakfast.  Pretty eyes though.

“Brienne Tarth,” she said formally and stuck out her hand to shake his.  She had a firm handshake, and she was indeed taller than him by a few inches.  He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman this big before. “Tyrion Lannister, I presume?”

She clearly hadn’t done her homework either, because his brother Tyrion would have barely crested her knee in height, so at least they were on a level playing field as far as that went.

“Jaime Lannister, actually.  My brother is ill today, so I came in his stead.”

“What a pity, I was looking forward to meeting him.”

“He sends his apologies,” Jaime replied, a bit taken aback that she was in fact _not_ happy about the substitution.  “I know he was looking forward to meeting you.”

She narrowed her eyes, apparently skeptical of that statement.

“Well, um…”  Fuck, this was not going well already.  But just then, he was saved when the national anthem began and everyone turned their attention to the field.  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he stole a glance at it when Brienne wasn’t looking.

 

_Yes, and she’s got a crazy nose, so try not to stare.  She played center for Stormlands U, had it broken five times.  She even had to wear one of those weird plastic face masks for awhile. LOL._

 

Jaime wanted to strangle his brother through the phone, but instead he pocketed it and turned his attention to the game.  Apparently it was kick-off, and he was supposed to be excited.

 

Things were rather dull for the first quarter.  There was no scoring, and it seemed as if an invisible wall of awkwardness had erected itself between Jaime and his client.  They spoke cordially to each other, and Jaime ordered them a round of beers which Brienne seemed to enjoy. But she was so rigid and uptight, he wasn’t sure what to say to her without running the risk of offending her in some way.

That all changed when the Evenstars drove down the field and Sandor Clegane barrelled into the endzone for a touchdown.  Brienne exploded like a wildfire bomb, screaming and jumping in the air. Jaime watched transfixed as the veins in her neck bulged out, her face turning beet red as she let out an earth shaking warcry and began high fiving the other random Everstar fans that were seated around them.  He caught a peek of her toned abs when her jersey rode up, and he found himself staring ridiculously at her triceps when she turned to look at him. She clearly caught him staring, but she only slammed down her entire beer in one swig and put her hand out for him to slap. He chugged his own beer, dropped the cup, then slapped his palm against hers, grinning.

They ordered another round, and then the Evenstars intercepted a pass from the Marauders and ran it back for another touchdown.

“PICK SIX!”  Brienne was bellowing.  The Evenstar section was going wild around them, beers spilling across joyous faces.  Brienne’s excitement was contagious and Jaime found himself cheering wildly with her, screaming out ‘pick six’ even though he had no idea what the fuck that meant.

“I feel like a traitor,” Jaime said once the crowd settled back down.  The whistle blew for halftime and people started shuffling out of their seats to hit the stadium bars or run to the bathroom.

“Oh fuck that,” Brienne replied.  “You’re an Evenstar now.” And she slapped him on the back.  “I gotta go pee,” she said, more loudly than necessary. Jaime was feeling the alcohol too, and he had this interesting urge to follow Brienne to the bathroom, like he didn’t want to let her out of his sight.

“Okay, want anything to eat?”

“Nachos,” she answered.  “I’ll grab the drinks. Meet you back here in a few.”

Jaime watched as Brienne trotted easily up the concrete steps, her leg muscles lean and defined beneath her skin-tight athletic pants.  And that ass was unreal. His phone buzzed. It was Tyrion.

 

_How’s everything going?  Marauders are really shitting the bed.  Sorry your first game has to be a blowout._

 

Jaime really didn’t mind.  He loved watching Brienne bask in the Evenstar glory.  He decided to leave Tyrion hanging and didn’t reply, then went to face the horde at the concession stand to get Brienne her nachos.

 

The nachos cost a ridiculous amount of money, but he would have paid anything to get the woman her food.  He sat back down in his seat and waited anxiously for her to return. Halftime was winding down and he was just beginning to wonder if she’d fallen in, when she sidled down the aisle toward him.  He had to stand up and lean back to let her pass. Her delicious bottom rubbed against his crotch and he shortly found himself the owner of a raging hard-on. Had she done that on purpose? But he didn’t have time to think about that, because when he looked up at her he nearly jumped back.  Her face was painted blue and white, divided down the middle, with a sun and moon on each cheek. Whoever had done it had been faced with the dilemma of dividing her face straight down the middle or following the wonky deviation of her nose. They’d chosen the latter and it looked ridiculous.  Then he started wondering _who_ had painted her face and was feeling stupidly jealous of that person.

“Here,” Brienne said and thrust a beer at him, but he was holding the nachos with his one remaining hand and couldn’t take if from her, and it was only then that she must have realized he didn’t _have_ a right hand.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said easily, then put the rim of one of the beer cups between her teeth to hold it, took the nachos from him, and pushed her face toward him, prompting him to grab the cup from between her lips.

“Thanks,” Jaime said, feeling at ease, and she smiled brilliantly at him.

“Now, if you’re going to be a proper Evenstar fan, I think I need to teach you a bit about this game.”

 

The Marauders scored two unanswered touchdowns in the second half, tying up the score.  Tension was high in the stadium as the Marauders made their way down the field with a few minutes left.  The Evenstar defense held them to a field goal, but now they needed to come back and score or the game was lost.

Brienne was screaming like a madwoman, gripping his arm, then cursing the gods as time ticked down and the Everstars were unable to move the ball past midfield.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” she muttered, and he could see her breathing rapidly, her brow furrowed as the Evenstar center hiked the ball for the final play of the game.  The quarterback fell back and danced around, letting his receivers run far down the field.

“AIR IT OUT!” an Evenstar fan behind behind them cried, and then the quarterback launched a pass all the way down the field in what Jaime would later learn was called a ‘Hail Mother’.  Brienne held her breath, her face contorted into some mix of ecstasy and terror as the ball seemed to float in the air forever. She grabbed his arm again, her fingers digging into his bicep painfully, but he didn’t care.

Then, and Evenstar receiver jumped up, over his defender, and hauled in the ball for a touchdown.  Time seemed to stop until finally the refs put up their hands, signaling the touchdown. Time had run out, and the Evenstars had won.

Brienne's face lit up like a sunrise as she screamed happily and jumped in the air.  The Evenstar fans around them erupted as well, sending beers flying and people tumbling over their seats.  Jaime joined in, and then Brienne turned to him and jumped into his arms, throwing her fist in the air. She was a big girl, but Jaime was strong enough.  Her body pressed firmly against his chest and he couldn’t help but nuzzle his face into her, and then she looked down at him and suddenly they were making out, falling backwards into the aisle in a shower of beer and sticky soda.  The people around them started laughing and cheering for them, someone yelling “Atta boy!” And there was no way in the seven hells that Brienne didn’t feel his rock hard cock busting against the seam of his pants, jutting urgently into her hip, but she only laughed then helped him up to his feet.

“Great day to become an Evenstar fan!” she yelled over the din.  “Let’s go celebrate!” So they made their way through the throng of people, mostly subdued Marauder fans, and out onto the strip of bars that lined the streets around Westerland Field.

 

They drank and ate and drank some more until Jaime couldn’t see straight, and then they bumbled back to the hotel Brienne was staying at.  They did some drunken parkour on the steps outside, and then kept it classy as they walked through the lobby. Once they hit the elevator, Jaime put Brienne in a headlock and they wrestled around until the doors opened and then stumbled out.  Brienne slammed him into the wall and then they were making out, sloppy and eager. They ordered a pizza, at least Jaime thought they did, and he vaguely remembered eating and forcing himself and Brienne to drink some water before they passed out, fulling clothed, in her bed together.

 

Jaime woke to the sound of his phone buzzing against the surface of the nightstand next to him.  He groaned and rubbed his face. He wasn’t quite sure where he was until he looked out the window and saw he was high up in a building in downtown Crag City.   _Oh fuck._

“Hello?” he muttered into the phone.

“Hello brother,” Tyrion said with a wicked lilt to his voice.  “How was the game?”

“Um, what?”  And then it all came flooding back to him.  The game, the kiss, the drunken escapades downtown.  He was still fully clothed which was probably a good thing since he and Brienne had been insanely drunk, but he was pretty sure he’d been little spoon at some point last night.  He could hear Brienne in the bathroom washing up.

“Uh fine,” Jaime answered lamely.  “We didn’t get to talk about the deal much though.”

“Oh, on the contrary, the entire west coast broadcast saw you close the deal on national television.”

Jaime sat up abruptly.  “What?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a kiss cam?” Tyrion asked.

Just then, Brienne emerged from the bathroom, wearing some tiny excuse for running shorts and a racerback tank.  Her short hair was put up in a disheveled ponytail, and she started putting on her running shoes.

“Oh gods, how can you go running?” Jaime groaned, pulling his phone away from his ear and ignoring Tyrion’s delighted cackling on the other end of the line.

“Not all of us are so genetically blessed that we can eat an entire pizza and still look like an Essosi god,” she replied.

“But I was going to take you to breakfast,” he said, and to his horror it sounded rather whiny.

“We missed breakfast.”

“Lunch?”

“It’s 4pm,” she replied.

“Dinner then.  Hey, is that a 'Crash the Landing' shirt?” he asked, trying to read the front of the tank she wore.  It was the toughest urban race in Westeros.

“Yes,” she answered.  “I did it last year. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Brienne walked out, Jaime watching her long legs dreamily until he finally got back to Tyrion.

“Jaime, is that _her_ talking in the background?” Tyrion asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I think I’m an Evenstar fan now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Any comments/suggestions are appreciated, I've never tried this kind of fic before :D
> 
> I forgot to add that the little spoon comment is inspired by a meme from @incorrectgotquotes instagram (at least I think that is the original source, please let me know if I'm wrong).
> 
> I just went through and fixed some of the glaring typos too.


End file.
